So You Think I'm Hot?
by callthemoonbeam
Summary: Shelagh appreciates Patrick's jumper, and then learns to articulate more of what she appreciates about him.
1. Chapter 1

Patrick pushed up the sleeves of the bulky jumper with his forehead, attention laser-focused on the task at hand. Between the long evening she'd had with the choral society, and his lingering guilt over the adoption interview, he was keen to do as much for his wife as possible. He'd urged her to take a bath while he washed up after dinner, and hadn't even tried to rope Tim in to help.

Listening nervously for the sound of the drain, Patrick scrubbed at the pot. He remembered the first time he'd tried persuading her to try a bubble bath. "Why?" she'd asked, puzzled that anyone would soak in their own bathwater for longer than absolutely necessary. Though she'd enjoyed obliging him that time, in the end, Shelagh was nothing normally if not efficient.

Finally, after Tim had come back through the kitchen to wish him goodnight, he dried the last of the plates. He set down the towel and was hurrying down the hallway just as Shelagh emerged from the bathroom in her dressing gown and a fog of fresh-smelling steam. He took her hands in his and kissed her wrists, still slightly damp from the bath.

"I like you in that jumper," she beamed up at him, clearly relaxed.

"Do you?" he asked, guiding her into the bedroom.

"Yes. And I particularly like the way you look in that jumper after having done all the washing up," she said, closing the door and stretching up for a kiss.

"I see," he smiled, his hands on her hips as her rapidly cooling fingers snaked under the aforementioned jumper, seeking the heat from his chest.

"I quite like what it does to your core temperature, too, now there's a nip in the air," she giggled.

"So," Patrick said, angling her up toward him with a sly look in his eyes, "you think I'm… hot?"

"You could say that," she said, already rolling the woolen knit up and over his head.


	2. Chapter 2

As he removed the jumper, she paused. "Something wrong? I can put it back on if you prefer me in it," he said with a wink.

"No, it's not that, Patrick," she hesitated, fiddling with his buttons. He cupped her chin, growing concerned.

"What's got you so tongue-tied? Is it something to do with me?"

Yes, and no. It was the word he'd used. The kind of word Trixie and Chummy threw around, that Shelagh wasn't sure how to pass through her own lips in a natural way. Why did it feel so strange to call him hot?

"Shelagh, darling?"

"No, Patrick," she said, eager to quash the worry growing in his eyes. She made a decision, then, moving to the bed and sitting him down next to her. Patrick looked earnestly at his wife, ready to listen to whatever she needed to tell him.

"Yes?"

"I think you're hot," she said, solemnly.

He let out the built up tension in a hearty chuckle. "I was worried it was something serious," he smiled, taking her hand.

"It is serious," pouted Shelagh. "I want to be able to express how I feel about you."

"I know how you feel about me," Patrick brought her hand to his lips. "And I think you know how I feel about you," he said, his voice low as his other hand rested on her thigh, thumb gently stroking the strip of exposed flesh where her dressing gown had slipped open.

"But Patrick, I'd like to be able to be more open about…" she gesticulated more wildly than usual, struggling to find the words. "I just feel so awkward, and I know I shouldn't." At her careful words and the look of loving concern on her face, he was struck wordless with how much he loved her. He flopped back to a comfortable position on the bed, ready to come to a solution.

"Why don't you start," he fingered the sash on her dressing gown as he spoke, "by telling me what feels good?" She nodded, relaxing into the crook of his arm, and was silent for a moment in thought, her fingers gliding lightly up and down his forearm.

"That," she whispered, enjoying the weight of his hand, large and warm, on her belly. "I like feeling your hand on my body."

"Here?" he asked, kissing the top of her head where it rested against his shoulder.

"Yes," she said, "and on my back." She shifted around to face him, and he rubbed her lower back in response. "And on my breast," she whispered. He responded in kind.

"How does that feel?" he asked, rolling a nipple between his fingers.

"That's nice," she moaned, softly.

"What else?" he coaxed, turning her so that the curve of her back fit neatly into his chest.

"I like it when you kiss my neck," she murmured, and he obliged, swirling wet kisses from her collarbone to the spot just behind her ear. This elicited more soft moans, and she began to move her hips against his, her back arching in pleasure. Her writhing was twisting the dressing gown, and he untied it, brushing it open to work his hands along her torso.

Turning to him, she slipped out of the dressing gown, lying naked before him. He could tell she had grown more comfortable, her eyes still guarded but with an excited gleam. As she reached for his shirt buttons, he stilled her hand. "Tell me what you want," he urged.

"I'd like to undress you," she said, quietly, her face very close to his. He pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely as she made quick work of his shirt and pressed her bare chest to his. He groaned into her as she unzipped his trousers, freeing his rapidly stiffening length to rest against her thigh, only his thin cotton boxers between them.

"I want you so badly, Shelagh," he said, breath quickening, hands searching her body, mouth hungry at her neck. She guided his hand to the wetness between her legs.

"I want you, too." She swallowed a cry as he circled his fingers around her, and tugged at the waistband of his shorts.

"Take them off," she gasped, "please."

He obliged, and she wrapped her legs around him, her hands exploring his chest and arms. Her mouth sought his insatiably, and she took hold of his erection, stroking it gently as she guided it to her. With difficulty, he broke away to pin her arms. "Tell me," he choked, "tell me what you want."

"I want you inside of me, Patrick," she said, voice rough as she thrust her hips toward him and they shifted position. He entered her with a shudder, and moved one hand to her pubic bone to complement the thrusts that filled her. "Harder," she panted. One of her legs rested against his shoulder, and he turned to kiss it, muffling his sounds of pleasure. Her breath grew shallow, her torso quivering, and she reached for a pillow to stifle the noise as she felt herself splitting apart beneath him. He followed her over the edge, collapsing at her shoulder to pepper her with tired kisses.

They lay together for a moment, recovering their breath, Shelagh tracing the faintest of patterns on Patrick's back. "There," he said, after a moment, "we've made a start."


End file.
